


hunting

by cryingalpacas



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Cannibalism, M/M, Multi, Wendigo AU, it's a long story, prequel to a different story that is NOT published, that I know of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-04 11:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16345664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingalpacas/pseuds/cryingalpacas
Summary: Stuart is a monster. Luckily for him, Murdoc is too.





	1. Chapter 1

The snow was blowing, whistling around dead trees and rocks like a tortured scream. The dunes shifted over the mountainscape, creating hills and hulking shapes in the dark. One snow dune in particular, as it piled beside a cliffside, was moving. It twitched and trembled like a dark creature’s womb, ready to burst. A shudder, and a pair of antlers rose from the white, larger than any deer or elk, covered in shedding velvet.

A low moan sounded across the mountainside, barely indistinguishable from the crying wind. The dune quivered once more before bursting apart, a massive figure stumbling from the cliff. He shook his head to dislodge the snow from his fur, and lumbered to the treeline. The trees bent aside for him, providing slight reprieve from the wind with thick boughs.

The creature’s body hunched into itself and he collapsed beneath an old hemlock, stomach growling. He had been starving for months now, body shrinking, fur growing sparse. There was no food for him here, in this desolate land. That’s the way he wanted it. 

As he lay prone, a snap could be heard from another part of the trees. A loud thump, and the crack of a tree trunk slamming into another. Muffled footsteps, the hiss of something vast breathing in deeply. The creature whimpered and struggled to lift his head towards the sounds. He couldn't smell, could barely see.

Something warm brushed his head, and he was being wrenched up by his antlers. The warmth that held him aloof was another creature, much bigger than he. Claws scraped his face, then withdrew. With his head still held up, he could see the figure bend over to the side and bring something into view. He knew exactly what it was as it was brought to his mouth, dripping like liquid heat onto his lips. It was blood. It was meat. Hunger snapped all of his senses back into place and he snapped out to take a large bite out of the hunk. He growled and turned himself onto his knees, eyes blazing to finally see what kind of creature had decided to feed him. 

It was kin. Warning signs chimed in his head and shot down his bony spine. Another one just like him. The other one was broad and covered in thick black fur, moss hanging down from vast, ebony antlers. Its eyes were mismatched, glaring out from the darkness, bright and narrowed. It bared its teeth at him, and held up bloody claws covered in deer blood as a threat. 

“Don’t you try anything.” It hissed, and the other cowered when he realized it was a much stronger, bigger male than him.

He struggled to open his mouth, to wrap his tongue around the syllables, but it had been ages since he last spoke. He settled for shaking his head frantically. The male snorted and turned to rip another hunk off of the deer carcass beside him. He held it out, and it was soon devoured as quick as the first.

“You’re dying,” he said, looking down at the emaciated creature before him. “Can you talk? Or are you too far gone?”

“I-I don’t-” 

“You know what? Fine.” He bent over and picked the weaker monster, and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. The deer carcass was held on the other arm, and they moved with ease through the trees and down the side of the mountain. The stronger creature moved through the deep snow with ease, body rocking back in forth in an almost soothing motion. The fur was thick, and the weaker monster buried his head happily in it, inhaling the scent of blood, of old rocks, and something dark that he could barely register. 

The mountains eventually evened out in a flat forest, the snow just a light dusting over the dead ferns. Up ahead, as they turned to the side and started back to the side of the mountain, a gaping maw of a cave appeared. The bigger monster sighed in relief, and bounded inside its dark depths. He set down the dying male, and the carcass close by. It was pitch black for several more minutes, a soft clicking the only noise besides gentle whooshing of water.

In a burst of light the cave was lit by a large fire, revealing piles of soft animal furs and skulls placed almost decoratively on natural alcoves around the room. The cave went even deeper, the promise of water making sweet ambient noise. The kin brushed his hair out of his eyes with his claws, and settled comfortably next to the fire.

“I keep the fat after a kill. Makes starting fires pretty easy, hm? Now that you aren't in five feet of snow, care to at least give me your name? ‘M Murdoc. Older than you, if your little baby antlers are anything to go off of.”  
As emphasis Murdoc shook his head, bringing attention to the massive stalks of ebony tines curling up far above his skull.

Lifting himself up and shakily leaning on the cool cave wall, he spoke.

“ N-name’s S-Stuart.” It felt like lead on his tongue, his name. He hadn't spoken it to another living thing in years. He eyed the deer carcass longingly, stomach clenching painfully as the smell hit him anew. “C-can I-”

Murdoc followed his gaze, and sighed. “Go ahead. I did catch it for you.” 

Stuart groaned and moved as fast as his emaciated body would let him, crouching over the deer and making short-work of every edible thing he could. It tasted like ambrosia to his parched lips, warming up frigid fingers and upwards until his whole body felt full and hot.

He let the empty husk fall back to the floor, and turned to look at Murdoc with clearer eyes. Stuart let his gaze slide up and down, taking in the confident ripple of muscle down to a slim waist, long legs made to spring with strength, clawed hands meant to rip. His winter coat was thick and glossy, covering his back and shoulders in a sleek black curtain. Back up to his face, thin and angular, eyes cat-like and full of potential violence. His mouth cracked just a bit to show a row of sharpened, wickedly white teeth.  
Stuart felt miniscule in return, compared to this monster practically oozing power. Did he bare his throat to this dark god, or flee for a chance of survival? He was caught in the indecision, body quivering with adrenaline. 

Murdoc stood up and walked to the remains of the deer, licking a bit of blood off his hands before stringing it up from a thick rope stretched across the opening of the cave. He tossed the bones into a pile near the fire, before turning to the cave entrance and frowning at the snow that started to pile up and blow into the cavern. He strided to a large rock that sat partially blocking the opening, and rolled it the rest of the way across. 

The cave immediately felt five degrees warmer, and Stuart let out a surprised purr at the sensation. He stretched out his back, gasped at the cracks and pops of joints, and settled down into the pile of furs. Murdoc settled as well, watching him with a strange intensity that spoke of some kind of expectation.

“I- How did you find me, anyway? I didn't think this mountain was.. In-in..habitated?” Stuart croaked, struggling to find the right words.

“You’ve been wandering around here for a couple months. You killed an elk, I noticed. I figured you were a rogue bear or some shit. Pretty fuckin’ scary you turned out to be wendigo, huh? I ‘aven't met another one in at least a decade.”

“...Wendigo?” Stuart rubbed at his right antler absentmindedly, scratching the itch in the velvet.

“Yeah. That’s what we are, dullard. ‘Avent you ‘eard of it?” 

“No. I ‘int get a chance to do much research.” 

“How’d ya change, then? If you didn't know what cannibalism would do?”

Stuart stared blankly, head cocked. His black eyes blinked, once, twice, before screwing up and staring at the fire in an effort not to cry.

 

“I was, a, plane wreck? In the mountains over uh… Norway, was it? Everyone died, I ‘ink. I remember burning… was there for months. Ate people, know that. Cooked them over fires, ate until I was sick. Managed to leave when I changed. Was uh, a while ago now. ‘Ve been trying not kill people though, it’s… wrong. Somethin’ wrong in my ‘ead.”

Murdoc sat still through the entire spiel, eyes wide with wonderment. He added a few more pieces of wood to the fire before replying, voice softer, almost gentle in comparison to his gruff demeanor. 

“I learned about wendigos in my brother’s old ritual book. He told me that they were powerful or some shit, that you could cut up their antlers and make, like, death-reversing spells or some shit. So he started kidnapping his old buddies from jail and straight up killin’ ‘em. Didn't know what I was eating until one day I sprouted these big boys.” He ran a claw down a brow tine and smiled. 

“Anyway. He and I parted ways when he started being an idiot and almost getting caught. Only one thing you gotta be careful of, that’s people finding ya. They may taste good in small doses, but you can’t fight off a bunch. They’d mount your head on their wall.”

Stuart nodded slightly, something relaxing in his stomach. He was safe, from himself and others for the first time, and it felt wonderful. Murdoc seemed to be a blessing, someone to show him the ropes. 

“Thank you s-so much, Murdoc. I- think i woulda died if I stayed out there any longer. Youra, your- a real life saver.”

The older wendigo shrugged. “It’s no problem. It gets mighty lonely up in these parts, nothing but deer and the occasional bear in the summer. I’ll tell you what, Stuart. I like you, you seem like a good kid. Help me hunt, keep this place safe, and I’ll let you stay. Hell, I’ll even teach how to keep care of yourself. You like that?”

It wasn't even a question. Stuart cried an enthusiastic yes, and Murdoc laughed a soft growl of a laugh. He sectioned out a deep pile of furs near the fire, designated it as Stuart’s bed, and told him to get some sleep. They would start hunting first thing in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

“Dammit, Stu, get your head in the fuckin’ game,” Murdoc growled, leaping into the air over a particularly large fallen tree, ducking his head to avoid hitting his antlers as he rolled mid-air and landed just inches away from a large moose in a flat out run. 

It was a large bull, and had smelled them as soon as they spotted it. It bolted, but Murdoc ran right after, desperate for such a large kill. If they managed to catch the damn thing, it would feed both him and Stuart easily. However, the younger wendigo wasn't the best at maneuvering his body, and often fell and ran into trees, drastically slowing the process.

Murdoc slipped to the right and launched himself at the moose from the side, finally sinking his claws into its chest. The bull let out a terrified screech and thrust his head side to side, goring Murdoc on a massive tine and jerking. The wendigo howled and grasped the bull by the neck, and with a terrific pull completely severed its head. He tossed it away and snarled, standing with the flats of his hands pressed into the gushing wound on his side. Stuart whined in fear and rushed to the immediate trees, pulling off thick bunches of moss and rushing to Murdoc’s side.

“O-oh, Muds! Here, just let me-” But before Stuart could pack the moss in the wound Murdoc backed away and snarled, teeth bared, eyes wild.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” He took his hand off the wound and swiped his claws in warning, before turning to the cooling moose carcass. He took the two front legs and started to drag its bulk through the forest back the way he came, dripping blood and positively livid. If they had just been more stealthy, just a bit quicker, this could've been prevented. 

Stuart blubbered and took up the two back legs, his eyes blinking furiously as he tried to contain the sudden surge of fear Murdoc’s rage had awakened in his stomach.

They eventually made it back to the cave, where Murdoc dropped the moose and stormed off into the darkness. He came back with his wound carefully packed with a large stash of pure white spiderwebs and fire in his eyes. He gave Stuart a long look, before turning to the carcass and ripping it open to reveal the glittering pink organs inside. He deliberately reached inside and pulled out the liver, a violent red thing, and took a large bite. Blood leaked down his chin and throat, mixing with black fur. 

Stuart watched the blood trail down, unconsciously licking his lips as the smell wavered in the cave, like heady wine. He wanted to eat, could feel the hunger curling low and vicious in his mouth. But he waited, silent and poised, as Murdoc finished the liver and moved on to reach deep inside the carcass.

With a disgusting squish, he pulled out the heart, roughly the size of a human head. Murdoc looked at it for a moment, before turning to Stuart. He cleaved it in half, and offered the muscle. Stuart could've cried with relief as he took the offering, its weight settling in his stomach with warmth and renewed hunger. He moved to Murdoc’s side and tore into the carcass, taking what he could with trembling, reverent hands. 

They had been living together for almost five months now, Murdoc doing his best to teach his denmate how to hunt and take down the big game of the mountains. Their relationship was tumultuous, never a definite companionship, mostly due to the strange and violent mood swings that possessed Murdoc. 

The monster was older and crueler, and could snap from a calm to a storm, throwing Stuart around like a ragdoll, hunting obsessively until the whole cave was full of bones and fur. Stuart took these tantrums with grace, shouldered on through the rage, simply because he didn't know if he could bear to leave. When he was with Murdoc the hunger in him dulled, quenched, even if only temporarily, by the thrill of never knowing what the other could do. Stuart would never say it, but a small part of him enjoyed being the meek one, letting Murdoc assert himself every chance he could. It made him feel high, the fear and excitement.

Murdoc, even with his cruel streak stretching miles wide, knew everything thing there was to know. He told Stuart with calm indifference how the change of the wendigo took place, the apparent curse that made the body tall and strong; the burst of claws, the pain of sprouting the black antlers, eyes becoming dark and sharp, teeth falling out and regrowing as fangs. He told tales of his brother Hannibal cannibalizing other humans in order to possess dark magic, the ways of witches, the other species of monsters that lurked. 

Murdoc, when he was drunk on blood, could even be kind. His claws could be gentle, stroking through the new glossy fur on Stuart’s back, praising him when he managed to cleanly kill a deer. He would spend long afternoons in the sun teaching Stu how to tan hides, mashing brain matter and carefully curing them, stretching them in trees to dry. It could be warm and happy in the cave, when they were content.

Stuart, with time, grew into himself. He stopped cringing when Murdoc growled, he learned to be quick and silent in the forest. His fur grew in every year thick and healthy, his size grew until he was even taller than Murdoc. His antlers widened and lengthened, becoming formidable and sharp. All in all, it was a profitable relationship, Murdoc and Stuart.

It was much later, as another winter thawed into spring, that Murdoc became restless. He made them run even longer distances for game, coming to the edges of humanity before bouncing back to the safety of the cave. He was irritable, prone to pinning Stuart down and biting deep marks on his throat, marking some sort of claim that in turn made Stuart livid. They fought when they weren't hunting, and the days became dangerous and bloody. 

They collectively decided it was time to leave the mountain range, and find a newer home, somewhere with better food. Murdoc’s one stipulation was that he wanted humans, wanted to be able to feed on one at least once a year. He missed the taste of being full, he complained. 

Stuart conceded and packed up his favorite furs. 

Crossing the continent was an experience in itself, as the pair wandered from the very edge of Russia to Belarus, across into Poland and Germany. 

Murdoc was never satisfied. There were too many people there, too little here, not enough trees. Stuart was in pain, the smell of human making his body twitch and burn with fire the longer he denied himself. Eventually, after almost another year, they came to the North Sea. Murdoc looked at the cool water, wrinkled his nose, and informed Stu that they would be swimming across into the United Kingdom, and subsequently across to Canada. Stuart almost cried.

Swimming was harsh, Stuart holding his bag of furs and worldly possessions on top of his head in his antlers to keep them dry, Murdoc surging forward with massive waves in his wake, utterly determined to get across. When they stopped to rest every so often he joked that they would stop by and visit his hometown, if they managed to get to the U.K.

Traveling around towns and cities was exhausting work. They spent more time bedded down, hidden then actually moving. Murdoc insisted that they wait to feed until they hit the very western border, overlooking the Irish sea.

It was grueling, thankless roaming, but they eventually reached the beautiful curves of Newfoundland, and Murdoc fell in love. There were people, but there were long stretches of uninhabited forests, canyons, rivers, and subsequently game. Murdoc celebrated by going to a small town and picking off a young man in the peak of youth.

They drug him deep into the woods, sweet screams muffled by Murdoc’s claws, Stuart trotting along behind them like a dog on a leash. He could barely stop himself from drooling. When they reached the alcove they tossed the boy on the ground, and Murdoc reached down and spread ribs like opening a gift. In a span of several minutes, the boy was devoured down to nothing but bones and hair.

Murdoc braided the soft brown strands into a dreamcatcher, and put it on Stu’s left brow time like some sick ornament. The bones were buried deep into the acidic soil of the mountain.

Thus they lived for almost three years, eating animals and people alike, Stuart teaching himself how to make rope and thread out of deer leather, making bags to store his furs and carved bones. 

 

However, like the lives of monsters tended to be, the peaceful period ended once again. The small towns around the area were deeply superstitious, old stories from the Inuit culture still living in the leathered skin of old men and women. The towns noticed the disappearance of young folk who lived in less populated parts of civilization, closer to the wilderness. At least three people per year went missing, bodies never found.

One night, as Murdoc and Stuart prowled at the edge of the forest, the men from the towns listened to the fearful cries of their elders. Bringing old shotguns and any odd weapon around the house, they started their hunt.

Murdoc smelled the flames before he saw them, but before he could turn to warn his companion, The thicket they were crouched in burst into a blaze. A gunshot right after it, and a scream vibrated through the air. Stuart howled right back, and launched himself from the thicket with inhuman speed. 

The mob of hunters followed steadily behind, setting fire to the dry woods as they went, steadily pushing them back into the channel. They reached the rocky shore in sweat, eyes wild, fur thick with the stench of smoke. A single gunshot fired from a nearby tree and almost hit Stuart in the chest, but Murdoc bumped the taller monster out of the way with a shout. 

The smell of blood blended with the fire, and Stuart desperately reached out to Murdoc, pulling him upright and tossing them into the water. 

They swam steadily across until the smell of smoke grew dimmer and the light from the flames were delicate fractals of light on the water. Stuart didn’t realize until he got to the opposite shore that he was crying, steady tears that mirrored the blood oozing from the bullet hole in Murdoc’s shoulder.

“M-Muds, are you, do you need me to-” He reached out and pressed against the wound, brushing away sand before Murdoc shrugged him off with a thin growl.

“We need to find shelter. Moss, something for a bandage. The fire won't spread across the river, but we can’t stay anywhere near here.” He took a deep breath, eyes glowing from an eerie silhouette in the firelight. “Are you alright?” His voice was soft, almost vulnerable; and Stu felt his eyes starting to drip faster. 

Stuart blinked several times, then wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. 

“No. C-cmon. I’ll lead t-the way.”

They trudged forward into the side of the mountain, Murdoc reaching out to grab Stuart’s hand as the fire dimmed and disappeared behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

Frantic, weary running gave way to helpless wandering. Murdoc fished the bullet from his arm in a long painful night, and strung it around his neck with a strip of clothesline he found around an old dock. The glint of metal bouncing on his chest as they searched was a constant reminder of what they lost.

They pushed down the land until they reached a thick forest at the border of Canada and the United States; Murdoc was forced to stop them from traveling any further as his health started to tank. He grew feverish, weak. Stuart parked them in a thick copse and tried everything he could do to draw out the illness.

One evening, Murdoc was sleeping soundly in a pile of fur and pine needles, Stu was worrying at an old bone.

He looked over at his companion with a deep frown and struggled to keep his anxiety at bay. Without Murdoc, where would he be? He didn't know where to go. Usually it was Murdoc that pushed them forward to better hunting grounds. Murdoc was the unspoken leader. Stuart had to find some way to help him.

So he made his way towards the smell of civilization, the oil of cars, the sweat of human beings.

It took miles and miles of trekking, not a difficult distance for Stuart’s body, but he was hyper-aware of every minute that passed took him further from Murdoc.

He could smell humans, thick and cloying, digging deep into his core and drawing a terrible hunger. Soon enough he could hear them too, at the edge of his senses, talking and crying out in excitement.

Stu paused in the shelter of a fallen tree to gather his bearings. What was he going to do? It was daylight, he didn't know why there were people out here in the veritable wilderness. Worse, how could he get anything to help Murdoc? He couldn't just walk into a store and get medication. Hell, he couldn't even take the lid off a pill bottle if he got ahold of one.

There had to be other ways to draw out infection. What Stu needed was information. He was sure that there was a way to save his companion using items he had.

The human noise faded slightly into the sound of torrential water. Stuart flinched and looked up. Up in the sky he could see, very faintly, mist, water spraying upwards. A soft feeling of recognition thrummed through him. Geiser?

He must be at some type of national park. Parks have medical supplies, surely, in some part of a main building. He just had to find them.

A plan started to formulate as he sat back into his tree roots, a purr rumbling out of him as he curled up in the leaves.

Stuart would sleep until night fell. Then, when the humans were sleeping docile in tents and cabins, he would find some type of main building. And he would find a first aid kit to steal. And he would use antiseptic to clean Murdoc’s wound and hopefully keep infection at bay.

He could do that. All he had to do was not get caught.

 

Stu huffed a deep sigh and fell asleep with his head buried in his arms.


End file.
